In the private sector, if an owner wants their property back, you have two months to move, unless of course, you take them to court, but most people move.
In the private sector, if you want to move, you can and are already on the search, having thought about it possibly, way before you handed your notice.
Both scenarios are stressful, horribly so, but often over fairly quickly.
In the public sector, after you are served notice, you have time, plenty of time.
This is great if you have money. Money can remedy all kinds of situations.
If you don't have money and are reliant on the public sector to house you, you can use all this time to campaign for something better.
All this time you don't know where or when you are going and your pleas are all ignored as you try and act positively and constructively for your child. It's suffocating.
I watched two films recently. Cher was the mum in one, Mermaids, Heather Locklear was the mum in the other, A Perfect Man.
Whenever life gets too hard, they are dumped by yet another man, they bundle their children in their car and off they go to a new life, to a new start. Over and over they do this so of course, the point of these films, is learning how to stay put.
I don't know how these mums could afford to move, I don't know how they could afford the nice new places they rented.
I do know though, that mums do move. Some mums do keep moving. I know because I've met one. I don't know where she is now, I met her when I was doing my masters research. She moved from a hostel in Camden to a refuge in Cornwall, then she was back in Camden, but only for a short while she said, while the council sorted something else out for her, somewhere else. She had a nine year old son. I almost envied her; she was doing something.
I want to go. I want to flee. I want out of this situation so desperately I cannot tell you.
I want to stop moving but I don't know how.
Yep, I woke up this morning, the hope bubble has exploded and I'm drowning in its dark void.